


Blue Christmas

by FeelingFredly



Category: Bleach
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-23 20:31:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17087231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeelingFredly/pseuds/FeelingFredly
Summary: Ichigo is having a blue, blue Christmas.





	Blue Christmas

 

 

 

Inoue stepped up to the microphone, waved two fingers like an idol, and started singing.

_I don't want a lot for Christmas_  
_There is just one thing I need_  
_And I don't care about the presents_  
_Underneath the Christmas tree_

It had been almost a month since Ichigo had seen him.  Since they’d fought harder than they had since the war.  They hadn’t even used their swords; words had been more than enough.

He’d tried to explain to his friends that he wasn’t in the mood for a party.  Karaoke wasn’t his thing at the best of times, but Rukia and Inoue had begged and pleaded, and Ishida gave him that look that said, “you’re making my girlfriend unhappy” and he caved.  Hell, he’d even reserved two fried chicken dinners for them to pick up on the way back to his apartment later.

_I just want you for my own_  
_More than you could ever know_  
_Make my wish come true_  
_All I want for Christmas_  
_Is you._

Renji pulled Rukia into his side, sliding as close to her as the booth bench would allow.  They looked ridiculously happy, having finally admitted how they felt for each other, and Ichigo could imagine them looking the same in another hundred years.  They just fit.  Sure, they fought like cats and dogs sometimes, but both of them knew that when it came right down to it, the other would have their back. Always, and without question.

Ishida was watching Inoue dancing on stage with the same look.  His blue eyes were almost the color of the sky when he looked at her, the happiness she brought somehow erasing a lifetime of bitterness and pain.  He didn’t think he’d ever seen the Quincy so carefree.  And Inoue?  She’d simply blossomed under the attention.  The war had left a lot of scars on her, and Ichigo had wondered if she would ever come back to herself, or if he’d wake up one day and find that she’d wandered back to Hueco Mundo again, only this time not to return.  Ishida had refused to let her pull away, had seen her emotional retreat and recognized the damage it was hiding, and had made helping her his touchstone.  His reason.  And now she was his heart, and he, hers.

Ichigo lifted his beer and drained it. 

“I’m going to get something from the bar.  You all want anything?”

His friends pulled their eyes away from Inoue’s Mariah-Carey-flavored train wreck long enough to shake their heads.  Of course not.  They were drunk on _loooooove_.

Lucky bastards.

He pushed his way out of their karaoke booth and took a deep breath.  There were couples everywhere celebrating Christmas Eve, and it just made his heart hurt.

He felt…  hollow.

A bitter laugh escaped him.  Wasn’t that just fucking ironic. Something he and Grimm had in common.  Finally.

Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez understood Ichigo’s inner hollow better than he did most of the time.  Unfortunately, that didn’t mean he understood the rest of him.

It wasn’t like he expected romance and flowers.  Sure, he liked Shakespeare, and taking pictures of the two of them together, and dinners alone with him, but that didn’t mean he expected anything Grimmjow wasn’t comfortable giving.

The problem was that the big blue blockhead couldn’t get it through his bony mask that Ichigo was just fine with the way things were going.  Noooo.  He was convinced Ichigo was staying with him out of pity, or some weird masochistic need to save everyone, and no matter how often, or loudly, or profanely he said differently, Grimm just wouldn’t listen.

“Hey,” he flagged down the bartender.  “Kirin, please.”

The bartender was dressed like Santa, from a floppy elf-hat, to a wide black patent leather belt, but instead of ho-ho-hoing his way to the beer fridge he froze and stared at Ichigo’s orange hair. Ichigo stifled a groan.  The last thing he wanted was another conversation about his freaking hair.

“You Ichigo?” the bartender looked down at a scribbled note beside the register, and then back up, checking out his hair again.

The redhead stopped mid-butt-cheek rest on the barstool. “Who wants to know?”

The bartender chuckled.  “That’s what he said you’d say.”

Santa-san still didn’t reach for the Kirin, instead grabbing several bottles and pouring until he’d created a virulently blue concoction, topped it with a piece of pineapple and a cherry and shoved it across the bar.

“What is this?” Ichigo picked up the glass gingerly and sniffed at it.  It smelled like oranges and coconut and was surprisingly pleasant.

“It’s called a Blue Hawaii. You know,” he said, “like the Elvis movie?”

Ichigo stopped with the glass halfway to his mouth.

“Elvis movie?”

Grimm and he had gone to an Elvis movie revival soon after they’d started dating.  They’d been struggling to find things other than fighting and sex to talk about, because, honestly, there was only so much angry making out you could do before it all felt the same.  So, after a day sparring in Urahara’s basement, they’d sat down to eat, and the shopkeeper had mentioned the movies. The conversation had shown just how little experience Grimm had with modern culture, and Ichigo decided right then that he was going to show Grimm _everything_.

Starting with Elvis.

It wasn’t as strange as it sounded.  His mother had enjoyed American music and had a collection of records that included Elvis and The Beach Boys, and somehow the slick bluesy rocker seemed a better jumping off point with Grimmjow than summer sand and bubble gum pop.  One view of the American rebel, though, and Grimm was hooked.  He loved the music.  He loved the attitude.  He loved the way Ichigo couldn’t help but laugh every time he said, “I’m The King, Baby.”

“Sure, you know.  Elvis Presley.  The King of Rock and Roll.”

Ichigo nodded, and carefully placed the drink back on the bar.  It had nothing to do with the tremor that ran through his hand.  Nothing at all.

“I know Elvis.  I don’t know why you gave me this, though.”

He pointed at the pineapple and cherry garnish, looking so festive and tried not to feel too hopeful. 

“Well, it’s like this.”  The bartender was polishing glasses and stacking them in pyramids across the bar top.  “This guy came in earlier and told me when an orange-haired punk came up ordering Kirin, I was supposed to give him this,” he pointed at the drink, “and a message.  Now, I’m not the best with colors in the world, and I'm not saying you're a punk, but I haven’t seen anyone in here with orange hair but you. So, here goes…  Merry Christmas and go see what’s behind door number two.  Unless you’re chicken, Berry.”

Ichigo frowned furiously and the bartender held up his hands to ward off his anger.  “That was the message.  Door number two, Christmas, chicken, Berry.  He made me repeat it twice to make sure I wouldn’t forget.”

It had to be Grimmjow.  But, why?  How?

“Door number two?”

The alcoholic version of Santa pointed down the hallway towards another karaoke booth.  “First door on the left.”

Ichigo dropped some money on the bar, lifted the Blue Hawaii in a silent toast, and downed it in one gulp.  He was going to need it.

“Thanks.” 

He slid off the barstool and started walking before he could talk himself out of it.  Plus, Grimmjow would never let him live it down if he ran away. 

He grabbed the doorknob, pulled, and was hit by a wave of rockabilly Christmas music.

_I'll have a Blue Christmas without you_  
_I'll be so blue just thinking about you_  
_Decorations of red on a green Christmas tree_  
_Won't be the same dear, if you're not here with me_

There was Grimmjow, his usual leather and denim gone. Instead he wore black trousers and a cashmere sweater that Ichigo had given him because it matched his eyes. No one else was in the room. His voice was husky and warm, and he sang along with Elvis, blue eyes piercing Ichigo’s brown.

Ichigo managed to sit down, afraid his legs were going to betray him, and stared at the man who’d consumed his thoughts for the past few weeks.  Oh, how he’d missed him.

_And when those blue snowflakes start falling_  
_That's when those blue memories start calling_  
_You'll be doin' all right, with your Christmas of white_  
_But I'll have a blue, blue blue blue Christmas_

Grimmjow pressed the button to stop the music and put down the microphone.

“Hey Berry,” he said, hesitantly sitting down across the table from him. “I’m glad you came.”

Ichigo cleared his throat.  “The guy at the bar was pretty persuasive.  The whole _unless you’re chicken_ , thing…  it was a real deal maker.”

The blue-haired man chuckled.  “Well, I figured it’d be stupid to give him some romantic nonsense to spout.  At least this way you knew what you were getting into.”

Ichigo reached across the formica and grabbed Grimmjow’s fingers.  “I’ve always known what I was getting into.”

Grimm stared at their joined hands, his fingers pale against Ichigo’s darker sword-calloused ones.  “I guess you have.”

They sat like that in silence for a while, but finally the need to speak bubbled up between them.

“I’m not good at this.”  Grimmjow almost growled the words, but Ichigo knew he was mostly upset with himself. “I said some things I’m not proud of.  Things that were meant to hurt you.  You didn’t deserve that.”

Ichigo shook his head and wondered just how hard that drink had hit him.  This was surreal.

“Every day I get up, look at this phony body, and hate my life.”  Grimm did growl this time.  “It used to be I wanted to kick your ass, prove that I was better than you—than anybody—and go back to Hueco Mundo.  It was everything I knew, everything I wanted, and getting it would have made me perfectly, fiercely happy.”

He released Ichigo’s hand like it scalded him.

“But now? It’s not enough." Grimmjow laughed bitterly. "It was everything I was, and now _it’s not enough_.  Do you know what that’s like?  To look at yourself and know that all your dreams, your aspirations, boil down to kill this, eat that, stand on top of the pile of bones as King of the Mountain, and do the same thing again and again until one day you’re too old or too weak and someone stronger comes along and kills your ass?”  He sighed, the anger seeping out of him.  “It isn’t pretty.”

Ichigo snorted.  “Tell me about it.  My version goes more like kill this, kill that, oh and kill the other thing, until everyone finally says take a break and go stand in the corner and act like you’re normal until we need you to come back and kill something else for us, okay?” He let out his breath on a heavy sigh of his own.

“You’re not the only bastard at the table, Grimm.  You’re just the more honestly labeled one.”

Grimmjow laughed and his broad shoulders loosened some and Ichigo smiled, happy he could ease his partner’s burden, if only a little.

“I’ve never wanted to be more than I am, Berry.  I am not a modest monster.  But now, with you,” his voice faded a little and he stared off into space, “I want to be better.”

Ichigo felt his throat tighten.  “That’s amazing to hear, but Grimm?  I don’t need you to be better.  I really like you.  Rough edges.  Teeth.  Challenging me at every turn, fighting and fierce and sexy as Hell. Change will happen whether we like it or not, and if we’re together, we’ll change to suit each other.  But, it’s like I was trying to tell you the other day.  _You_ are what I want.  Just you. My blue-haired bastard of a boyfriend.”

Ichigo stood and walked around the table, and before Grimmjow could speak he had a lap full of orange-haired man. 

“Berry,” he said roughly, and was silenced with a kiss. He looked up into shining brown eyes and tried again. “ _Ichigo_.  What did I do to deserve you?”

Ichigo leaned in again, breathing hotly across Grimmjow’s parted lips.  “I don’t know.  It must’ve been something very,” he kissed him lightly, and then again harder, “ _very_ good.” 

A few breathless minutes later they parted.  Grimmjow’s perfectly coiffed hair was curling wildly where greedy fingers had dragged through it, and Ichigo’s lips were swollen and kiss-bitten.

Neither man had ever seen anything more beautiful in their lives.

“Come back to my apartment with me?” Ichigo whispered into the side of Grimm’s neck. 

“And why would I do something like that, Berry?” Long white fingers slid into orange spikes and gently tugged, eliciting a shuddering groan.

“I just thought you would want to unwrap your,” Ichigo nipped his boyfriend’s oh-so-accessible earlobe and got a hiss for his efforts. “Christmas present.”

***

The jolly elf behind the bar grinned as he watched the two love-birds race out the door into the darkness, and he was heard to say as they walked out of sight, “Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.”

 


End file.
